


Love, Baseball, and Other Things

by wordsbymeganmichael



Series: Love, Baseball, and Other Things [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baseball, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsbymeganmichael/pseuds/wordsbymeganmichael
Summary: Professional pitcher Killian Jones has been in love with his best friends little sister for years, but both of them have guarded their hearts too much to allow the other in. What happens when that changes?





	1. Chapter 1

Emma Swan was very good at her job. No one in the entire Philadelphia Police Department would argue with that — in fact, many of them even call her up when they need her to work her magic in the less-legal senses of investigation, even more so now that her brother is the captain of one of the precincts. 

She’s good at tracking people down, good at learning all the dark secrets in their past. She’s good at marathoning television shows on the weekend, a good soccer player, can swing a bat pretty well (she might even fill in for David on the precinct’s softball team), good at Mario Kart, and even pretty decent at air hockey. 

What she’s not good at is relationships. She’s really only been with one, with her son’s father since her first year of college, but the moment Neal heard she was pregnant, she hasn’t heard a word from him. Though she’s not as surprised anymore as she was when it happened. 

But that’s another thing she’s good at: being a mother. And she would do anything to make her son happy, has lived by that for the past ten years of his life.

Which is how she ends up here as often as possible, sitting along the third base line at Citizen’s Bank Park as the sun disappears over the side of the stadium, though it doesn’t fail to blind her. Because if there’s one thing Henry loves more than anything, it’s baseball. 

And if there’s one thing Emma loves more than anything, it’s Killian Jones, startoff pitcher for the Phillies, and her brother’s best friend. Though nobody in the world knows that — and she plans to keep it that way. 

 

Killian Jones is very good at his job. No one in the entire greater Philadelphia area would argue with that — it’s part of why they pay him so damn much. He loves the game, loves his teammates, and, perhaps the best part, he loves the city of Philadelphia and all it holds for him.

He’s got a beautiful curveball, an impressive fast, and one of the most raved-about sliders in the entire league. He runs one of the fastest miles in the game, still has time to play pick-up soccer with his old college buddies, and is learning how to play Mario Kart during his weekend at David’s house with his found family. 

What he’s not good at is relationships. He’s only really been in one, during college, but since she was killed in a car accident, he hasn’t ever attempted another. He’s too broken from the loss of her to hope to give a part of his heart away again, if only for the worry that they would be taken from him the way Milah was. Or, that’s what he thought. 

She always told him to follow his dreams, so even though he went to school for writing and journalism, he went back to the first love of his life, the thing that brought happiness in his childhood that was pretty devoid of it in other places: baseball. 

What he never expected was to fall in love with his best friend’s sister along the way — though as it stands, he doesn’t plan on telling anyone in the near future, least of all David Nolan, Emma’s brother. 

Or, that’s what he thought. 

 

It certainly wasn’t the best game of his career. It was still early in the season, the cool April air doing more to calm his nerves than the sweltering heat he lives with for most of the season, but that apparently meant nothing for his statistics. He allowed more runs than the past two games combined, including three inside-the-park home runs that were certainly going to plummet his numbers. 

But when ruby Lucas, Philly’s MLB-affiliated journalist, finds him after the game to ask him what the  _ hell  _ went wrong, he certainly does not tell her about the blonde sitting behind the third-base dugout who stole his attention far before the game even started. He was absolutely not going to tell Emma’s best friend that he was completely and totally enamoured by her mere presence in the stadium, not to mention that he’s absolutely in love with her. 

(Though when Ruby’s eyes raise to the seats behind him, where he knows she and her son are still sitting, he has a feeling she might already know, though it’s a feeling he decides to push to the back of his mind and not focus on, especially not during an interview with MLB network.) 

He finishes his interview with her, blaming nerves and the talent of the team for his slip-ups — the Cubs might not be the best team right now, but they certainly aren’t the worst. They’re pretty far from it, actually. 

When he turns around after the interview, though, Emma and Henry are gone, having finished their customary helmets full of soft serve. He feels a pang in his heart — usually they wait for him to finish and he lets Henry run around the bases to exert some of the energy gained from his sugar consumption. But that does not seem to be the case today, and, trying his best to supress the frown that he knows took over his face, he turns back to his team, only to find Robin, his best friend and second-baseman barrelling towards him. 

“Oi, Jones, what the hell happened out there?” 

“Come on, Locksley,” Killian tries, pulling his best smile to his face. “A man’s not allowed to just have a shit day?” 

“Not when that man was on the path to being the best pitcher in the entire fucking league.” 

_ Okay _ , he thinks.  _ Robin has a point.  _

“I guess I’m just nervous about my brother flying over to visit me.” It’s not a lie — far from it, actually. His brother is coming to visit him, their schedules allowing it for the first time in a few years — he could just have to travel to a few different cities while he’s visiting, but a British Naval Captain can afford to do that. 

Robin’s gruff expression fades as he reaches to clap him on the shoulder. I guess we can choose to forgive you this time around, but you’re on thin ice.” 

“Damn right he is,” Victor Whale, the first-base coach says, punching Killian’s arm as they start to head towards the locker room. 

“Thin fucking ice,” Will Scarlett, right field, yells from behind him. 

The berating continues through the locker room, his whole team taunting him (and each other, to be fair) about their 6-2 loss. But after the rest of the team leaves, talking about getting a pint somewhere, Killian turns down their offer, giving the excuse of needing to straighten his house before his brother’s flight lands in the morning. 

(Though, the few of them that have been to Killian’s Old City apartment know just how meticulous he is, the face that he can’t stand when anything is not where it belongs, even with his grueling game and travel schedule. It’s a downright lie, and the look in Robin’s eye tells Killian that he’s sure of it.) 

Which, he’s assuming, is why he sticks around when everyone else leaves, leaving only him and Killian in the room. 

“When are you going to ask her out, mate?” Robin says, sitting down on the bench in the middle of the room. 

“Rob, I can’t. I don’t have the time for a relationship, especially for a woman with a son.” 

“You’re completely head-over-heels in love with her, Killian.”

“I definitely am not,” he retorts, but Robin has no time for him, practically yelling back in his face. 

“Admit it, Jones, you’re absolutely in love with Emma Swan.” 

Hanging his head in defeat, he scrubs his face with his hand, hitching his bag back up on the other shoulder. 

“Fine, fine, yes, okay? I’ll admit it. Happy?” 

The smile that covers Robin’s face is all the answer he needs. 

  
  


—/— 

 

How Henry convinced Emma to buy him  _ another  _ hot dog when all he’s done since they got to the stadium, Emma may never know. The man working behind the counter wasn’t too happy about it, either, but the smile covering Henry’s face makes up for it. 

She still wants to find Killian, hoping that he lets Henry run around the bases to let off some of the pent-off energy even though she’s sure that he’s already on his way out of the stadium. Hopefully he won’t care, will still let her boy do a lap, and when she turns the corner towards the exit from the locker room, smiling at Leroy, the security guard, and sees most of the team leaving the room, she almost turns around. 

But she doesn’t see Killian in the crowd, would recognize his dark hair and his gait in any crowd, so she heads towards the room, passing Will Scarlett who is at the end of the line of baseball players. 

“He’s inside still, love,” Will says, smiling at her when she does not need to ask the question on the tip of her tongue. 

She returns the smile and heads towards the door to the locker room, which she starts to push open. 

But what she hears stops her in her tracks, the door barely cracked open. 

“Admit it, Jones, you’re absolutely in love with Emma Swan.” 

She recognizes the voice: Robin, Killian’s best friend. She feels her heart fall on the floor in front of her (okay, maybe not), and her breath stops in her throat, especially when she hears Killian’s response. 

“Fine, fine, yes, okay? I’ll admit it. Happy?”

Hoping they’re not right behind the door, she turns on her heel and reaches out to grab Henry’s hand, rushing back down the hallway as fast as she can. 

“Mom, but I thought —” Henry tries, but when Emma turns to him, the words stop falling from his mouth. 

“I have something to do at home that I forgot about,” she says quickly, pulling him along the corridor and turning the corner as she hears the locker room door close behind her. 


	2. Chapter 2

Emma closes her car door behind her, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel as Henry climbs in the back. She can’t stop repeating the conversation she overheard at the locker room door, the words shared between Killian and Robin that she definitely was not supposed to hear. 

That she certainly did not hear correctly, that she must have misunderstood. 

Of course. That makes more sense. 

Except… the words themselves were pretty clear. The hallway was silent, Killian and Robin seemed to be alone in the locker room. There’s nothing else they could have met:  _ “Admit it, Jones, you’re absolutely in love with Emma Swan.” _ It could have been a joke. He could have been asking someone else in the locker room, some… other Jones. There’s another Jones who plays for the Phils, right? 

_ Wrong _ , her mind tells her.  _ Wrong, wrong, wrong.  _ There’s only one, with perfect dark hair and shining blue eyes that she sees in her dreams. 

There’s only one Jones, and he agreed with Robin — he’s in love with her. 

_ So what?  _ she asks.  _ You’re in love with him, too. Where’s the issue?  _

Her heart is the issue. 

His heart is the issue. 

They’ve had this conversation before, over dinner and drinks, over pizza while they’ve watched a movie together. They’ve both been hurt before, have had their hearts broken and haven’t yet recovered from that. Or, that’s what he told her, at least. 

What she told him. 

“Mom, are we going home or what? I thought you were in a hurry?” Henry asks from the back seat, more brilliant than a ten year old should be able to be.

Sighing, she turns the key in the ignition and hopes, as she always does, that the old yellow Bug will turn over. Thankfully, it does — that would just be the icing on the cake — and she sets out for home. 

Of course, there’s nothing she needs to do at home, it was a lie. But Henry doesn’t need to know that, so she plants herself at her desk in the corner and begins to answer emails, hoping to at least make it look like she’s doing something important. 

Henry falls for it, grabbing some grapes from the fridge and laying across the couch as he pages through the channels. 

The next few days pass uneventfully, much to her relief. She goes to work, comes home, spends time with her son, goes to dinner at her brother’s house, and doesn’t fail to notice that Killian is surprisingly absent. 

Not that she cares. Why would she care? But when he doesn’t show up to the fourth dinner in a row, she asks about him, realizing when the words are out of her mouth that she just as simply could have texted him and avoided the knowing look Mary Margaret sends her way. 

“He didn’t tell you?” David asks, as if she and Killian talk all day, every day. “His brother is visiting from overseas, and they’re at a series in Los Angeles.” 

She nods, taking another bite of her lasagna and hoping that David isn’t going to follow with the question she knows is coming. 

“Why?” 

Trying to keep her cool, she shakes her head, her eyes still turned down to her plate. “I just haven’t seen him or heard from him for a few days, is all.” 

She raises her eyes to Mary Margaret, can tell that she wants to say something else, but she decides to bite her tongue. 

Good. 

 

— / — 

Killian is tired. Exhausted. Worn out. He wants nothing more than to close his eyes and let sleep take him for the few hours it takes to fly back to Philly, but every time he tries to give way to the heaviness of his eyelids, he sees her. Her blonde curls, shining in the sun; her bright green eyes, staring into his soul. He wants to get lost in her, her eyes and her hair and her whole being. He’s not even sure that he loved Milah the same way he loves Emma, though he’s certainly grown as a person in the years since she had been taken from him. He knows that she would want him to be happy, would not want him to give up on his love life just because she is gone. That’s what he’s been telling himself, what Liam reminds him every time he asks why Killian doesn’t have a new lovely lady in his life. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

Killian changes his position in his seat for what feels like the hundredth time since he got on the plane, and Liam’s eyes open slowly, turning towards him in the low lights of the cabin. 

“What’s the matter, Killy?” Liam asks, his voice soft as he sets his hand on Killian’s arm. 

Killian sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand before turning towards his brother. “I’ve got it bad, brother. And I want — I want nothing more than to be with her, to care for her and her son the way mum wished someone would care for us.” 

“This is the Swan woman, right?” 

Killian can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. “Aye, David’s little sister. You’ve met her.” 

“You’ve cared for her for some time now, right?” Liam asks, trying to refresh his memory of all the things Killian has shared through phone calls, Facetimes, emails. 

“Aye,” he breathes. 

“Then what’s stopping you?” Liam has always been Killian’s pillar of logic, the one that speaks sense into him in the moments he needs it most. 

“I don’t know if she… if she feels the same way.”

“Have you tried talking to her?” Liam can’t help the tone of his voice, making it seem like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

It kind of is, actually. 

Killian shakes his head, a smile forming on his lips with the humor behind Liam’s words. 

“You’ll never know until you try, little brother,” Liam says, reaching up to ruffle his hair like they’re teenagers again. 

“Younger,” Killian mumbles, shaking Liam’s hand away as he straightens out his hair with the palm of his hand. “And how do you always seem to have all the answers?” 

“Wisdom comes with age, Killy,” he says, and they both laugh, loud enough that the older woman sitting in the row in front of them turns around to glare in their direction, causing them both to stop on the spot but still laughing under their breath. 

“Does that mean you’re going to take my advice?” 

Killian pulls himself together, holding his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. “Yes,” he breathes, shaking his head as if he doesn’t even believe the words coming out of his mouth. “As a matter of fact, I think I am.” 

He certainly doesn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, if he’s honest with himself. It’s absolutely insane, and he has no idea how he is going to do it — but now, at least, he knows that he is. 

When the landing turbulence shakes him awake, he realizes that the pair of green eyes and a dazzling smile waited for him to fall asleep before haunting him. But his first thought  — after convincing his body that he’s not about to die — is that he needs to talk to her  _ now _ . 

Which, of course, is absolutely insane, since it’s three o’clock in the morning. Instead, he and Liam take an Uber back to his apartment, where he’s asleep before his head hits his pillow. 

  
  


The next morning, however, he wakes to find that he hasn’t changed his mind — which is perhaps more of a shock than the realization he came to the night before. It’s just after nine, still too early for Liam to be awake after last night’s travel, but his adrenaline has gotten the best of him, and he spends the better part of ten minutes pacing back and forth in front of his bed before he realizes that the only thing he can do is to talk to her. 

To tell her how he feels. 

Does he even know how to do that anymore? 

Sighing, he makes his way into the bathroom to at least try to make himself look presentable: flattening his hair, brushing his teeth, washing his face. Leaving a note for Liam on the counter, an reference to his favorite movie (“I gotta go see about a girl”), he texts Emma as he walks down the stairs to his door, heading towards her apartment, only a handful of blocks into Center City.

_ Are you awake, Swan?  _

Her response comes just a few moments later: 

_ Of course I’m awake, Killian. It’s Saturday and I have a ten year old.  _

_ Have you and your boy eaten yet?  _ he asks, pausing for a moment to appreciate the cherry blossom trees in the park, closing his eyes to let the morning sun beat on his face before he sends it. 

_ Henry’s on his third bowl of cereal, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. Why?  _

He smiles down at his phone, trying to decide just how flirtatious to make his message, deciding to go with the always-tasteful  _ It’s a surprise _ , paired with the winking emoji. 

She simply responds with the thumbs-up emoji, though he notices that the three dots at the bottom of their messages stay for a few moments longer before disappearing, and realizes when they have finally gone away that he was holding his breath. 

He has no reason to be as nervous as he is. All he’s doing is walking his regular path to Emma’s house, a path he has walked so many times (and, surprisingly, hasn’t been recognized nearly as much as he thought he would when he moved to the city he plays for) — it’s just a regular morning, going to make pancakes with Emma and lounge on her couch to watch whatever Henry is into these days. 

Except today, that’s not the plan, he reminds himself with a shaky sigh. Today, the plan is to confess everything to her, tell her that he has been in love with her for months and can’t wait not knowing how she feels any longer. And if she turns him down, if his feelings are not reciprocated, then he’ll just turn around and walk back through Old City and return to his apartment like the fool he knows he is. 

_ But what if she does feel the same way?  _ he allows himself to wonder, unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face just thinking about it. Because then, maybe he could allow himself to be happy for the first time in years. 

_ Well, that was unnecessarily harsh,  _ he thinks.  _ But completely valid.  _

He almost walks past her door with just how stuck in his own mind he has become, shaking off the distraction at the last moment before ringing the buzzer for her apartment, but it is not until he looks through the entrance that he sees her standing there, leaning back against the hallway wall, her eyes set on the ground in front of her and her bottom lip pulled up between her teeth. Smiling through the window at her, he knocks on the door as gently as he can, hoping to not scare her out of wherever inside her head she is currently stuck, but he still sees her jump at the noise. She takes a deep breath before turning towards the door, a smile spread across her face, but even through the window he can tell that it does not quite reach her eyes. 

_ Why does he notice that?  _

“Swan,” he breathes, the smile on his face somehow spreading, and he ignores how her face fails to change. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here to let me in, love,” he teases, but still to no avail. 

“I didn’t,” she tries, but shakes her head. “No, obviously I did, but I wanted  — I wanted to talk to you somewhere that my ten-year-old wasn’t eavesdropping, because apparently he’s absolutely brilliant and can pick up on things that no ten-year-old should be able to pick up on —” She drops her gaze to the floor, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth again before mumbling, “Sorry, I’m rambling.” 

As gently as he can, Killian takes a small step towards her, close enough for him to reach out and place his index finger under her chin so he can pull her eyes up to his.  “What’s the matter, Swan?” 

He can hear her swallow, feels the rise and fall of her shoulders against his hand, still tucked under her chin. She doesn’t speak right away, but he decides then that he will give her all the time in the world to say whatever is on her chest, even if that means he doesn’t get the chance to tell her what he came here for. 

“I heard you and Robin talking in the locker room the other day,” she whispers, her eyes leaving his face once more, and he’s pretty sure that his heart stops beating on the spot, because she  _ can’t  _ be saying what he thinks she’s saying. There’s  _ no way.  _ “When you told him — when you confirmed that you — when —” She tries three times to say what she’s trying to say, but the fact that she can’t even bring herself to say the words makes Killian take a step back, understanding what this has to mean. 

“I know what I said, Emma,” he says, his voice soft but with a cold edge that he didn’t mean to add to his voice, though he certainly feels in his heart. He wants to say more, wants to tell her that her feelings towards the subject are obvious with her words. It’s all on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to say any of it. 

Because her eyes snap up to his, so bright, though he can somehow tell that it has nothing to do with the light coming through the windows, with the lights in the hallway. The brightness is coming from her, and this time when she smiles, it is illuminated by the almost-startling brightness within her jade eyes. “Good,” she whispers, filling the space between them again so she can rest her hands on his chest. 

He  _ wants  _ to respond, wants to wrap his arms around her and believe that she’s saying exactly what he hopes she’s saying. Wants to kiss her the way he should have been kissing her since he first realized that he’d fallen for his best friend’s sister. Wants to at least  _ smile  _ at her, got God’s sake, but finds himself unable to do any of it, unable to do anything but widen his eyes in shock. 

Which only makes Emma’s smile widen, pulls a laugh out of her, and  _ oh my god, he might never breathe again  _ with the way that sound pulls the remaining air out of his lungs. 

One of her hands slides up his chest and rests against the side of his face, her thumb moving across his stubble, against the scar on his cheek and the soft skin around his beard before taking off his baseball cap so she can run her fingers through his hair. 

“God, Killian, say something,” she whispers before laughing again, and he swears that if that laugh was the only thing he heard for the rest of his life, he would be content. 

Which is absolutely insane, of course. 

Almost as insane as standing here when the woman he loves more than anything is waiting to hear him say that. Or,  _ Christ _ , waiting for him to do anything. 

“No,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around her in one quick movement, one resting on her back while the other tangles into the ends of her hair. He’s never moved so slowly in his life, always used to 95 mile-per-hour fastballs and double plays and pickoffs at first, but he wants to remember every detail of this moment, from the tickle of Emma’s hair against his fingers to the way she inhales just before his lips press against hers and — 

“Oh my  _ God _ , you’re Killian  _ fucking  _ Jones!” 

His eyes snap open, and he feels Emma sigh against his chest, her face pressed into his shoulder as he turns towards whoever has the nerve to interrupt them here,  _ now _ , in the lobby of her apartment building. 

“Aye, I am,” he says, trying to keep the anger out of his voice as he turns towards a group of college students gathered behind them in the lobby, the one in front of the group wearing his jersey. 

Because  _ of course he is.  _

“What are you doing here?!” the kid has the gall to ask, and Killian hears Emma laugh against his chest as he raises his eyes to the group. 

“Man, that was a stupid-ass question,” one of the other group members says, hitting the first with the back of his hand. 

“A stupid-ass question,” Emma repeats under her breath, laughing along with the group. 

“Can I sign something for you, mate?” he asks, trying his best to keep his anger down inside — he's wanted to kiss Emma Swan for longer than he likes to admit, and now that he's finally got the chance, he doesn't appreciate being stopped.

“Shit, man, fuck yes!” he practically yells, his eyes wide as he turns towards his group of compatriots. “Does anyone have a sharpie or something?” 

The only girl in the group, who has been silent this whole time, speaks up as everyone pays their pockets, as if that's where anyone keeps a sharpie. “I have one, give me a sec,” she says, taking her backpack off her pack and starting to dig through it, her arm slowly reaching deeper and deeper into the abyss until she comes up victorious.

“Lit!” Killian may never learn to understand the lingo these days, but he smiles anyway as the front guy yells, taking the Sharpie from her hand a little too excitedly before walking towards Killian, who holds Emma against his side as he takes the marker. “Sign my jersey please, man!” 

“Of course.” 

It only takes him a moment, signing the first kids jersey and another's hat, and they yell a “thank you” back over their shoulders as Killian turns to hand the marker back to the first girl, who is holding an empty notebook in her hands. There's something in her eyes that Killian relates to, even though he may not be able to understand what it is. 

“You're my brothers favorite player in the league,” she says softly, a shy smile spread across her face as she looks up at him. “Will you sign this so I can give it to him? And maybe take a picture with me, so he knows it's real?” 

“Of course, lass,” Killian says, the smile on his face growing. “What's your brother's name?” 

“Toby.” 

“And yours?” 

“Alice.” 

“Well, Alice,” Killian says, signing the paper with a quick message before setting the sharpie down on the notebook to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling a business card out from between the folds. “Call this number when you and your brother want to come to a game, and I'll make sure to get you both a tour, plus to meet some of the other players.” 

Suddenly, her blue eyes light up with hope. “You can — you would do that?” 

“Of course I can, I'm Killian  _ fucking  _ Jones,” he says with a wink, dropping his accent to make fun of the way her friend said his name before. “Emma, love, can you take a picture for the lady?” 

Emma nods, smiling up at him before taking the phone from the girls outstretched hand. 

“Who's your favorite, I'll make sure they help with the tour.” 

“Scarlett,” she says, almost a whisper, and Killian tries his hardest not to laugh at the way her cheeks redden. 

“He's certainly a charmer,” Killian says, wrapping his arm around the girls shoulders. “And I know for a fact he loves giving tours.” 

“Thanks again,” she says quickly as soon as Emma moves to hand the camera back to her, pushing through the door before Killian can get another word out. 

“You didn't have to embarrass her,” Emma teases, a smile forming on her face as she closes the space between them again. 

“If Scarlett's her favorite, I'm afraid I did,” he says. “I'd do the same to you if Scarlett were your favorite.” 

“He might be, I haven't really decided yet. Him, or Robin, or even Jefferson, you know, his crazy hair just makes me lose my mind.” 

“Aye, perhaps,” Killian quips back, raising his eyebrow at her. “But how many other Phillies are you secretly in love with?” 

He wants to watch her cheeks redden with his tease, but he can't stop himself anymore, leaning in to capture her lips with his. 


End file.
